Prey
by justyoureverydaygirl
Summary: Wendy gets lost in the club, and Peter saves her. Except, his saving might be worse after all.


Wendy looked around the club anxiously; her friends had disappeared. Apparently, so had the exit. She couldn't see how they'd gotten in, and she couldn't see where she could get out.

Of course, it was difficult to look when she was being shoved and knocked into by hordes of 'dancing' people. What they were doing…it wasn't dancing.

This had been a bad idea, she'd known it all along. They'd promised fun, and adventure, two things that Wendy's life was sorely lacking. She'd been stupid to agree.

Somebody with painfully blue hair knocked into her, sending Wendy to the floor with a small scream that was easily drowned out by the roaring music. The floor hitting her back made her lose her breath, and she had to think for a moment before trying to get up. It was far more difficult than it should have been to stand up.

A hand appeared out of nowhere, held out to her. Wendy took it gratefully, pulling and getting pulled until she was standing, and could see the person on the other side of the hand.

"Thank you." She had to shout to thank him, and even then he didn't seem to have heard her.

He said something, but she couldn't tell what it was. Wendy laughed, and shrugged hopelessly. The boy smiled, rolling his eyes, and tugged her away from the crowds.

Once they were further away, her hearing improved tremendously. She tried again. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." No wonder she hadn't been able to hear him; his voice was low, and must have gotten lost in the base. "It's my privilege to be allowed to assist such a lovely girl."

Had anybody else said something like that, she'd have scoffed, but there was a magnetism to this boy. Wendy blushed.

He held out a hand. "It's a pleasure."

"Oh, of course. The pleasure is mine." Wendy shook his hand and tried not to dwell on the contrasts between his caluses and her own soft hands. "My name's Wendy."

"Did I forget to introduce myself?" He laughed. "I'm Peter."

"Are you here very much?" Wendy wanted to know if he was one of the 'club bunnies' like her friends. If he was, there was no amount of attractiveness that could make him appealing to her.

Peter laughed again-he seemed to do that a lot. She liked his laugh, and his little sideways smirk. "Are you asking me if I come here often?"

Her cheeks turned an even darker shade of pink. Whoops. "I suppose I am. I need to work on my wording."

"Well, Wendy," She got goosebumps when he said her name. "I'm pleased to say that no, I don't come here often. Only when I have to."

She furrowed her eyebrows. The music was hurting her head, and she was kind of confused. "Why would you have to come here?"

He looked embarrassed. "I own the place, so they want me here sometimes."

Wendy was shocked. He didn't look old enough to own a club; he didn't even look old enough to go to a club. Peter looked like he belonged in the back of a math class, playing games on his phone instead of paying attention.

"I can see you're not too impressed. If it makes you feel any better, I inherited the club. It wasn't my first choice of property, but it does well for me. Are you okay?"

She nodded. "Sorry, I didn't mean to seem rude. My head hurts; it's really loud in here."

Peter nodded understandingly. "Here, follow me." He started to walk down the hall next to where they'd retreated. Wendy hesitated. Peter noticed. "Oh, I didn't realize how creepy that sounded. I was just going to bring you back to my office, but you don't have to. I can show you the exit, if you like."

Wendy didn't want to leave, though. She wanted to keep talking to him. Reassured, she followed him down the hall and into a small, well lit room.

It was quiet in there, and she sighed happily. "Thank you. It seems like all I can say to you tonight is thank you."

He was doing something at a desk, across the room, but she couldn't see. "It's not a problem, really. I assume your friends dragged you with them? No offense, but you don't exactly seem like the clubbing type."

She nodded, then realized that he couldn't see her. "Yeah, they made me come. I didn't even get to wear my own clothes."

"I hope it's not too misogynistic to say, but I can't complain about what they did have you wear." Peter winked at her playfully, carrying two glasses with him. "Here, you choose. I don't want to scare you; it's just water." He sat down on the couch, and she followed suit.

She picked the one on the right. "Thank you, Peter. This is very kind of you." Wendy watched him drink from his before taking a sip from hers. It really was just water.

They talked for a long time, then she started to feel sleepy; it must be late. "I should get home. Could you show me the exit, please?"

"I could." He was looking at her differently, but she couldn't put her finger on how his gaze had changed. "I won't."

Wendy furrowed her eyebrows. "Alright, I'll just find it myself." She started to stand up, but Peter grabbed her hand. He didn't hurt her, but his grip was strong.

"Please, just stay a little while longer. I like talking to you."

She nodded, and relaxed again on the couch. "Just a little while."

He grinned at her mischievously. "Can I try something?" Peter leaned closer, and she found herself nodding before she could think too har about it.

Slowly, as if he was trying not to startle her, he wrapped his hand around her back of her neck and pulled her to him, meeting her in the middle and kissing her. For some reason, she hadn't expected him to kiss her, and was shocked for a moment.

Wendy kissed him back, and he smirked before pressing harder, his other hand wrapping around her waist and pulling her tightly against him.

They moved quickly, too quickly for Wendy to know who was directing it, so that she was on her back on the couch and Peter was hovering over her. Perhaps hovering wasn't the right word; he wasn't crushing her, but she could feel the planes of his body against her.

Wendy broke away, panting for air, but Peter quickly captured her lips again. This was different, rougher.

Her chest started to hurt, and she struggled to move away, but he held her in place. He wasn't kissing her anymore; his lips were still latched on to her own, but this wasn't kissing.

It felt like she couldn't get enough air, even though she was breathing just fine through her nose. Her head started to spin, and she pounded on Peters chest with her fists before he grabbed her wrists with both hands and yanked them above her head.

Finally, he broke away, gasping in delight and smirking down at her. He was blurry, spinning in her vision.

Peter bent down to whisper in her ear. "Don't worry, Wendy Bird. I'll take care of you." And with that, she passed out, the last sound she heard was him laughing. She figured out how the way he looked at her changed. He'd started to see her as prey.


End file.
